Page 8 of After the Siren

Chapter Four

Jake scrambled for the ball and grabbed it, spinning to the right. He felt a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, bending his knees just enough that the hand slipped up, catching the side of his neck.

Kat’s whistle shrilled. ‘High!’

Jake turned, grinning.

Bestavros did not grin back. ‘He ducked.’

Kat gave Bestavros a look over her sunglasses. ‘Then tackle him lower.’

Jake winked at Bestavros, paced back and took the kick. They both jogged after the play, and Bestavros gave him a nudge with his shoulder as they ran. From Xen or Paddy it would have felt friendly. It did not feel friendly.

It wasn’t yet a hot day, but it was warm enough that everyone had worked up a sweat early in the session. There was a damp sheen on Bestavros’ neck, and he reached up to shove his hair out of his eyes.

‘You need a headband,’ Jake said.

Bestavros glanced across at him. ‘I think I’m good.’

Things with Bestavros had been weird in the few days since Jake had overheard the phone call. Jake had tried to make it clear, without actually saying anything, that Bestavros’ secret was safe with him. That he was chill about bisexuality.

He was also trying to be chill about Bestavros thinking he was a showboating hack. Getting into it with him about wearing a headband wouldn’t help with that.

His dick, however, was not being chill. Mainly, Jake blamed the yoga.

Bestavros was good at yoga. Really good at yoga.

He practised every morning, before breakfast, in a corner of the courtyard clearly visible from where Jake liked to eat.

Xen had nearly had to call an ambulance when Bestavros moved into some sort of pretzel position just as Jake took a sip of coffee.

Knowing Bestavros was queer made it trickier, somehow.

Jake had learned a long time ago that other athletes were treats you didn’t look at, because you weren’t going to get to eat them.

But then there was Bestavros. A treat who, in different circumstances, might have been interested in being eaten by Jake.

Or whatever. They didn’t pay Jake because he was good with words.

Bestavros didn’t practise shirtless – it was worse than that.

He practised in trackies and a t-shirt that slipped to show his flat stomach every time he was in a position that put his head below his hips.

Whenever he moved into something like a lunge, his track pants pulled tight across his thighs and glutes, and – well, Jake had to avert his eyes for his own good.

It wasn’t as though he’d never had queer teammates before.

He had queer teammates right now . But the general you’re hot sensation he’d experienced when he’d seen Bestavros on the bus had changed into a specific and inconvenient I wonder , which was definitely not going to become an I know , because: (a) Bestavros didn’t like him; (b) Bestavros didn’t seem as though he’d be into hate sex; and (c) Jake wasn’t that much of a fucking idiot .

Jake refused to think of it as a crush. He wasn’t twelve.

But he was keeping out of their room as much as possible.

Being in close quarters with Bestavros had tipped from awkward into get me out of here at the point when Bestavros glaring and nudging Jake’s things back onto Jake’s side of the room had started to be a turn on.

It wasn’t Jake’s best training session. He just couldn’t quite get his head into it.

Bestavros took him high again – Jake was pretty sure it was an accident – and then they got tangled up in a tackle and the studs on Jake’s boot left indents on Bestavros’ calf.

Bestavros scowled at Jake as though he’d done it deliberately, which was fucking rich coming from someone who’d nearly ripped his head off in training .

Then they had a little tussle for the ball during a marking drill and Bestavros’ elbow got Jake in the ribs in a way that definitely wasn’t accidental, and which was definitely going to bruise.

The animosity only made the situation worse.

His dick had issues.

Theo knew he shouldn’t have jammed his elbow into Cunningham’s ribs. It was not the sort of thing you did in training. But Cunningham had spent the whole session getting in his face and Theo was done.

The chat with Kat had made Theo feel better – right up until he’d seen the pile of balls at the end of the first day and known it was goal-kicking time. By the time he’d picked up a ball, he felt a bit clammy.

He’d missed three of the four shots he took that day and the pattern had continued.

He was trying , and he was still fucking it up.

He was being supported, and given time, and it wasn’t working.

The Falcons weren’t running a charity for washed-up second-round draft picks; if he didn’t get his shit together, he wasn’t going to get within cooee of a game.

Cunningham had slotted all four that first day, and the second day, and the third, and so on, and here was Cunningham again: always talking, always grinning, always acting as if everything was one big joke.

So, yeah, Theo shouldn’t have rammed his elbow into Cunningham’s ribs, but nobody could prove it hadn’t been accidental.

And it had wiped the grin off Cunningham’s face.

‘You good, bro?’ Xen asked, as Cunningham poked an exploratory finger into his side.

‘Just a flesh wound.’

‘Try not to fuck anyone up in training, Stavs,’ Xen told Theo.

Theo had wanted to be wary with Xen – he was too close to Cunningham – but it was very hard not to be friendly with someone who was just so nice .

He’d noticed Theo liked to have a banana before their gym sessions, and had actively prevented Cunningham from getting the last one earlier that day so Theo could grab it.

Theo nodded. ‘My bad.’

Cunningham’s eyes flicked up at that. He’d noticed the lack of an actual apology. Shoe was on the other foot, then.

They finished the session with a friendly shots-on-goal competition. Again. Theo shanked a kick so badly that Cunningham wolf-whistled. He would have done it to anyone, but the jibe dropped like a stone down Theo’s throat and settled in his churning stomach.

Ryan won, at least, after Cunningham smacked a kick from the pocket into the post.

Theo tried to keep the satisfaction off his face as he grabbed a Gatorade and listened to the post-session feedback. He knew there’d be more coming for him. Kat didn’t seem to want to play him as a forward, but he still needed to be able to kick a fucking goal.

He was fucking this up.

Sometimes it felt as though there was a schism between his body and his brain.

His brain told him, You can do this, you’ve been doing this for years, Kat gets it , but all his body had now was muscle memory and anxiety.

They were eight days into camp and maybe it was a bit better – maybe – but nobody was going to sit around and give Theo unlimited time to sort his shit out. He was supposed to be a professional.

He threw his empty bottle at the bin and missed.

Jake didn’t mean to walk back with Bestavros, but they ended up leaving the oval at the same time.

Bestavros stalked next to him, silent, jaw set.

If it had been anyone else, Jake would have said something reassuring.

Sometimes you just had a shit day with the posts.

But he didn’t think Bestavros would want to hear it, and he wasn’t in the mood to be told to get fucked. Or to be reminded that he ducked.

They got back to their room and Jake decided to make a strategic retreat. He grabbed a towel and a change of clothes – he was soaked with sweat – and headed for the door. He had to swerve around Bestavros to get there.

Bestavros rounded on him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a pass at you.’

The fuck? ‘What?’

Bestavros gestured to the room. ‘You think I haven’t noticed you’ve been avoiding the room ever since you overheard my phone conversation?’

Jake was rarely speechless. This did the job.

‘Being bi doesn’t mean I don’t have standards,’ Bestavros continued. He was scowling at Jake.

Jake wasn’t finding the animosity hot anymore. He felt weird. Like he was having the conversation and also watching it from somewhere overhead. He tried to keep his voice even. ‘I was trying to give you some space because you seem pretty pissed.’

Bestavros snorted. ‘Sure.’

Jake knew he should just leave. Bestavros was picking a fight. It wasn’t about Jake, it was just that Jake was here. Kyle had done that, sometimes. Bestavros had the yips in front of goal, in a major way, and he wanted to be pissed at someone other than himself.

Jake had always been a good target for that sort of anger.

He didn’t leave. Instead he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. ‘You think I have a problem with you being bi?’

‘You’ve been pretty absent for the last few days.’

‘Usually I don’t hang out with people who hate my guts.’

‘Sharing a room isn’t hanging out.’

It was almost funny how wrong Bestavros was. But what was Jake supposed to say? Ever since I found out you’re queer I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if we fucked ? Bestavros would probably punch him in the face. Bestavros had ‘standards’, after all.

‘I don’t have a problem with you being bi.’

‘Why would I believe that?’

The anger hit Jake in a sudden rush of heat. He was done . He was sick of every shitty journalist and random fan, and now apparently his queer teammate , making assumptions about him. The words were out before he could stop them. ‘Because I’m gay, you asshole.’

Theo’s stomach clenched. ‘That’s not funny.’ It was low, even for Cunningham. Although Cunningham didn’t look as though he was joking. There was no sign of his usual lazy smile. No mischief in the curve of his mouth. He was looking at Theo like he wanted to throw down.

‘I’m not joking.’ He held Theo’s gaze.